Doctor Who: Perpetual
by TheEnvoy
Summary: A cruise ship in the 35th century. A virus slowly taking control of everyone aboard, one by one. And a skinny man in a pinstripe suit. But there's more. Intrigued? Well, read on, into Doctor Who: Perpetual!


**Doctor Who: Eternal.**

**Prequel - Perpetual**

**Chapter 1.**

Sometime long after ours, a ship sat gazing out at the stars. It was long and sleek, with a jet black underside and silver walls. Two great big propulsion engines coughed particles of glowing blue energy out into the dark night's sky, as the ship slowly ferried its passengers around the universe.

On the observation deck (which was surrounded by a dainty 'oxygen membrane', as the engineers of Sto would call it), a voice emanated from the speakers lurching out of the ship's sides.

"Good evening, passengers of the _Galinn_. We hope you're having a pleasant trip. We are currently orbiting the Sol system, perhaps more commonly known by locals, and indeed our ancestors, as Earth. The bar on deck five is now open and will be open until we depart the system. Any enquiries you may have should be directed to the ship's porters, situated by every set of lifts. I'm Captain Adam Henderson. Thank you for travelling with us this month."

The speakers fell quiet. And then, they started playing music.

As the ship continued to hover far above the planet, a slow wheezing noise seemed to build up. Slowly at first, but then it became a bit faster, as an old blue police box faded into view. It floated past the _Galinn_ as the doors were thrown open and a skinny man with brown, spiky hair and spectacles peered out into the darkness.

"Hm," he grunted. "Earth after humanity. Congratulations." He looked over towards the ship. "Oh, and they're finally returning home to examine their handiwork. _Molto bene! _How about a closer look, Donna…?"

The man turned to look back into the police box. And then he remembered.

"Hm. Well."

Quickly, he turned back to look into the police box, and ran back towards the six-sided control console in the centre of the vast room.

Now, the man could tell you that the police box was the TARDIS, a vastly powerful spaceship capable of travelling through all of space and time, and he could have told you that the interior existed in a different dimension to the outside shell of the box, but he didn't have time.

Although the man, the Doctor, still held guilt deep in his heart, he remained intrigued nonetheless.

"A cruise liner in the thirty-fifth century, hovering over Earth? Let's have a look."

Aboard the ship, in the medical bay, another doctor was hard at work. The patient screamed and shrieked as the doctor tried to restrain her wild, flailing limbs.

"Please, Miss Travoli, calm down! I am trying to help you, woman!" the doctor snapped, her eyes darting all over the patient's form, trying to take in everything that was happening at once.

The patient's eyes were red; bloodshot, even. And wild. She was wide-eyed, as if in a permanent state of shock. Her hands kept tightening into fists and releasing again, possibly involuntarily.

The med-bay was small. Far too small for the size of the ship it was meant to serve. Four beds and two sets of equipment were hardly enough to care for eight hundred passengers and a crew of forty. The doctor had complained about this before, but had always been dismissed with a casual "Yes, we'll look into it."

Suddenly, the med-bay's steel door slid open, and a young nurse dashed in.

"Doctor Pattison! There's another two cases of the virus on the catering deck!" he shouted, attempting to be louder than the wailing patient that Pattison was already dealing with.

The doctor pushed her white hair out of her eyes, and rubbed her face, just below her eye sockets. "For Alzan's sake…" she muttered. "What are their symptoms?"

The nurse quickly moved through some pages on his PDA-like device. "Bloodshot eyes, seemingly random, jerky movements and incessant screaming. Like this one, Doctor Pattison!"

Doctor Pattison, or Aretha to her trusted associates in the field of medicine, stormed out of the med-bay. "Keep an eye on her! If the virus breaks out on the catering level everyone could be infected through the food!" she bellowed, pointing an old finger at the young man. She glanced at the glass doors that separated the med-bay from the rest of the deck, and took in what she saw from her own reflection.

An older woman, with her fair share of wrinkles and marks, with bright purple eyes. The vivid eyes were typical of her species, the Pyramayans; everyone was taught that in their first year of school biology. She smiled at herself.

But there wasn't time. There were more pressing matters than her appearance. For now.

The Doctor dashed around the central console of the TARDIS, as he yanked on the stick of a gearbox that jutted out of the console at an awkward angle, before pressing some buttons on a small red keyboard that sat on the coral setup. He moved around to the scanner screen, and took in the information it presented.

"Oh, not humanity returning home after all. Well, kind of. The Pyramayans! An evolved version of humanity, when you think about it. Human plus. So, technically it is humanity returning home. Lovely species, though. Increased brain activity, vivid eyes, wonderfully advanced society in terms of technology. No time travel yet. One day, you lot," he grinned, as he pulled a lever that sent the column in the middle of the room into a torrent of wheezing and coughing as it rose and fell.

The TARDIS threw itself towards the _Galinn_ at breakneck speed, before disappearing from sight as it gradually faded out just as it had slowly appeared.

Aretha ran through the medical level, as it was called, although the fact that it was mostly spare rooms filled with replacement components for the various technological wonders around the ship was laughable. She ran past one or two people, but not that many.

The layout of the ship was stupid, Aretha thought. At the very end of each level there was a lift. Which was not useful when someone was trying to get anywhere in a hurry.

After several minutes of running, she finally reached the lift. She hammered the button, and started cursing herself as the lift took longer and longer to reach her. Finally, the door pulled back, and she stepped in, before hammering the button for the catering level.

The fact that the ship had been built at all was embarrassing. So many holes in its structure, the layout was unsuitable for any real practical thing, and there were hardly enough crew members for the number of passengers aboard.

Finally, the lift stopped, and the doors opened, to reveal a grubby level covered in cookers and pots and pans. About nine or ten chefs and waiters stood around. They all looked worried.

"Where's the patient?" Aretha asked. One of the waiters looked at her with fear, and then motioned over to the small crowd that had gathered around a person lying on the floor. She sighed and nodded to the waiter.

She moved over to the patient. But, as she moved closer, she could see there was someone crouched beside him. A skinny man. Not another doctor. She was the only one qualified aboard the entire ship. The skinny man wore a blue pinstripe suit and red plimsolls, which were hardly the correct attire for a medical practitioner.

Aretha made her way through the people who had gathered, and looked down at what she saw. The skinny man was resting his head on the patient's chest, while his right hand was clamped firmly on his forehead, keeping his spiky hair out of his eyes.

"Who the hell are you?" Aretha asked, an aggressive tone of authority in her voice.

"I'm the Doctor," the Doctor replied.

"You're not paying attention to me, are you?"

"Not really," the Doctor said, pulling his head back up from the patient's chest. "Slowed heartbeat, bloodshot eyes, but no spasms. Oh, and the bloodshot eyes shouldn't even be possible with your species' genetic makeup. Just saying."

Aretha raised an eyebrow. "You're a doctor?" she asked, not really believing it.

"Yep. I am. But I'm actually _the _Doctor, not _a _doctor. But please yourself." He paused, and looked at her. "Now, Dr. Pattison, what do you make of it? Can I call you Aretha? What's this ship?"

"Erm, well," Aretha began, "I'm not sure what it is, no you can't, and this is the _Galinn_. How do you not know that? How did you get aboard? You're not registered as being on my medical team."

The Doctor leapt up, and looked Aretha straight in the eye. "I told you, I'm the Doctor. I'm not assigned to a certain medical team. Think of me as the caretaker of the universe. Actually, don't. That's rubbish. Think of me as the Doctor. And I'd say this virus is synthesised, especially since I haven't seen anything exactly like it because it shouldn't technically exist for another three hundred and fifty years. But that's not important! Well, it is, but it's not at the forefront of my mind. I don't know the ship because I just got here in my blue box." He pointed behind him to a big wooden box that sat next to a thick steel pipe at the edge of the room. Bright white letters at the top of the box said 'POLICE PUBLIC CALL BOX'.

"Right…"

The Doctor turned away from her, to address the crowd that stood around them. "Okay! He's fine, just stay away from him. Don't cook anything until I give you the all clear and above all else, remain clam. Clam? No, sorry, remain calm. Slight involuntary spasm in the speech receptors of the brain..." His eyes widened.

"Doctor…"

"I know. Symptom number one; spasms in practically any part of the body. But how am I being affected?" He raked his hand through his hair, and pulled his glasses off. "I'm sure I can't be affected by the virus, it's too primitive. My defence systems would have caught it by now."

Suddenly, the ship shook violently, as sparks erupted from the wiring running along the walls and flames burst out from the various appliances on the deck. Everyone dived to the floor, as explosions could be heard from other areas of the ship. The _Galinn_ creaked and shuddered.

"Everyone alright?" Aretha asked, pulling herself to her feet. The Doctor looked at her with an eyebrow raised.

"What?"

"I usually ask that," he replied.

Aretha sighed. "You are joking, right? Something's happened to the ship. I don't know what, and I'm not sure I want to know, so for once, _let someone else take charge!_"

The Doctor stepped back in surprise. "Oh, okay then. Doctor."

Aretha smiled, sighed, and bowed her head. "Thank you. Now…"

"Oh, but that IS interesting!" the Doctor declared to nobody in particular, walking around in a circle with a pen-like device with a glowing blue tip in his hand. It buzzed and whined erratically, but maintained a beeping noise every two seconds. He started to talk to himself as he pointed the device around at various parts of the room.

"For the love of… Doctor? What is it?" Aretha asked, not entirely sure whether she was asking out of curiosity or out of a desire to silence the skinny man's babbling.

"Sonic screwdriver. Built it myself. Thank you, I'm very proud."

"No, you… what's interesting?"

The Doctor stopped pointing the sonic screwdriver around, and turned to look at her. "The ship's registering a few more energy signatures than this ship should have," he said nonchalantly, as he moved back over to the man lying on the floor, dazed and confused.

The various catering staff exchanged worried looks.

"More energy signatures?" Aretha asked.

The Doctor nodded.

"How many?"

The Doctor pointed the screwdriver up at the ceiling. It buzzed for a second or two, and then the Doctor pulled it close to his face, where he examined its body.

"Well," he muttered, "about an exodus-class mining ship of temporal pirates too many."

**TO BE CONTINUED…**


End file.
